


I'll Be Good

by Plum_in_Cryo



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plum_in_Cryo/pseuds/Plum_in_Cryo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A page out of Bucky's life as inspired by Jaymes Young's song "I'll Be Good." <br/>I suggest you listen to the song before you read/as you read the story.<br/>No copyright infringement intended.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Good

-I thought I saw the Devil this morning-

He splashes cold water on his face. Blinks hard. Wipes the water away roughly. Tries to forget the nightmare. He glances up and gasps.

-Looking in the mirror-

He grabs his face and reaches for his reflection. Is it really him? So pale, hollow, empty. But more, one that had caused emptiness and pain and horrors. 

-Drop of rum on my tongue-

He leaves the bathroom shaking. A drink, that’s what he needs. He pours a glass of liquor, tastes the fiery clarity. 

-With a warning-

He sets the barely touched glass down. He can’t risk drunkenness, no telling what would happen.

-To help me see myself clearer-

He sits on the couch and holds his head in his hands. What he thought would bring clarity only brings chaos. 

-I never meant to start a fire-

Flames from the past. Heat searing, burning, destroying evidence. Explosions, cars on fire, people screaming.

-Never meant to make you bleed-

A woman, running, pursued, shot, bleeding, his doing. Blinks it away. A man, surrendering, pleading, pummeled, bleeding, shot, begging, falling—remembered. 

-I’ll be a better man today-

Sighing, he grabs his coat and gloves and heads out the door of his small apartment. 

-I’ll be good-

He opens the door for Mrs. Kurstski, smiles when he does it. Laughs, sighing, when she asks when he’d come back with a girl. Smiles farewell.

-I’ll be good-

He walks with the flow of the crowd. Always alert, watching for threats. A man tries to steal a purse. He catches the thief, returns the purse, receives a touch and a smile. 

-And I’ll love the world like I should-

Although large groups made him nervous, they are all the same comforting. So many normal people, living, breathing, moving, alive, well, happy. And he cares—for the  
woman and her baby interrupting his thoughts, for the man transporting materials to the new construction, for the teens crossing around a street performer, for them all. He cares. 

-Yeah, I’ll be good-

He waits in line patiently. Smiling at the toddler with her mother in front of him. She smiles back.

-I’ll be good-

He chooses his fruit carefully. Hands them to the worker, thanks her, pays, smiles again. He is grateful, she blushes as he smiles. She might like him. Maybe he can be good.

-For all of the times-

Absentmindedly, he scans the crowd. He catches a man’s eye. Something is wrong. Crossing the street, he walks to the newsstand. The man runs away. Panic begins to rise. He grabs the newspaper. Headline: WINTER SOLDIER SOUGHT BOMBARDMENT OF VIENNA. 

-I never could-

Horror. Had he done it? He sweeps the crowd. Who else had seen this? The newspaperman recognized him, there is no time to figure out if he had bombed the UN, the world is searching for him. He has to get home.

-My past has tasted bitter, for years now-

He wracks his mind, tries to remember every mission, the moment when he remembered every motion, every shot, that felling of lost time, empty days and weeks being  
filled fragmentally, terribly. 

-So I wield an iron fist-

Carefully he checks his left hand, makes certain it is still covered. Calms his mind so the arm doesn’t spasm, he must get home undetected, must get his memories.

-Grace is just weakness-

The authorities know where he is living. He sees the Special Forces van approaching a few blocks away. Should he run? He feels his programming restless for a fight. He would wipe them out, no mercy. 

-Or so I’ve been told-

No. That is the programming talking. The man he is is merciful, kind, human. He races up to his home. 

-I’ve been cold-

Flashback, Siberia, cryo, frost, weakness. 

-I’ve been merciless-

Hardness, impenetrable, cruel, uncaring. 

-But the blood on my hands scares me to death-

He blows out air, clears his mind of the memories. Shudders once more. He can’t think of the past now, he has to escape. Deftly, he climbs up to his apartment and squeezes through the window. Someone is inside. Looking through his memories, not here to capture him, those men are on the stairs. The man turns. 

-Maybe I’m waking up today-

“Do you know me?” the man asks.

-I’ll be good-

“You’re Steve,” he croaks.

-I’ll be good-

“I read about you in a museum.”

Steve takes a step forward. Some chatter comes from his earpiece. 

“You pulled me from the river”

-And I’ll love the world like I should-

“Why?”

The question hangs in the air

Seconds pass like minutes. Why. Because this man, Steve, was his best friend in all the world. The only one who believed him. Who trusted he was good, wasn’t a monster.

-I’ll be good-

But he can’t let Steve know, because Steve would follow him, hike he always did, and Steve would get hurt, again, because of him. 

-I’ll be good-

“I don’t know.” It is a lie. It is for Steve.

-I’ll be good-

“Yes, you do.” It didn’t matter, Steve knows he is lying, he can always tell.

-I’ll be good-

More chatter from Steve’s radio.

“I wasn’t in Vienna, I don’t do that anymore.”

-For all of the light that I shut out-

I don’t kill anymore

“I know, but the people who think you did are on their way and they’re not planning on taking you alive.”

Of course, they aren’t. He doesn’t blame them.

-For all the innocent things that I’ve doubt-

“This doesn’t have to end in a fight, Buck.”

He glances at Steve.

-For all the bruises that I’ve caused and the tears-

“It always ends in a fight.”

-For all of the things that I’ve done all these years-

He gets his backpack, fights, runs.  
Is captured.  
Forgets.  
—  
Remembers.  
Guilt, a fight for his life, pain, loss, fear.  
Reparation, payment, redemption.  
Safety  
—  
—  
—  
-For all of the sparks that I’ve stomped out-

He sits and lets the nurse hook up his IV.

Steve walks up, “Are you sure about this?”

-For all the perfect things that I doubt-

“Everything that Hydra put in me is still there.”

-I’ll be good, I’ll be good-

“I can’t trust my own mind.”

-And I’ll love the world like I should-

“So until they can figure out how to get this stuff out of my head”

-Yeah, I’ll be good, I’ll be good-

“I think going under’s the best thing”

-For all of the times I never could-

“For everybody.”

He glances up at Steve. 

Steve keeps his face set, supportive, but shields his true emotions. 

He climbs into the glass chamber, his new home. Steve watches, calm, solid, strong.  
The door closes, mist rises, cold, freezing cold. He shuts his eyes, takes a last breath. 

Bucky falls asleep

-For all of the times I never could.-  
_  
-  
-


End file.
